by Patti Larsen
“If that man touches you,” she snarled, “or, heaven forbid, decides to lay a single finger on me, I’ll… I’ll…” I’d never seen Mom so worked up and it wasn’t until she mentioned herself I realized she wasn’t referring to Ryan. “I don’t know what I’ll do, Fee, but it won’t be pretty.”
I don’t know if Mom realized, but her temper show helped me cool my own until I was able to cross to her and hug her, the two of us trembling in the vestiges of our woman power.
“It’ll be okay,” I said. “Mom, we can just walk. Now. Screw Eddie and Ryan and all of them. This isn’t our business and I personally couldn’t care less if this place flies or not.”
She nodded against my shoulder before letting me go, exhaling heavily. I watched the storm pass from over her lovely face and her usual relaxed demeanor returned, at least to a point. I had a feeling no one would be crossing my mother and living to tell the tale in the next two days.
“We’re both professionals,” she said. “We can handle this. It’s good experience for both of us. Besides, who knows when something might slip on the floor and be repurposed. And heaven forbid Petunia accidentally snort in anyone’s food. That would be a shame.”
Mom. Seriously. Fierce.
I looked down at my pug who panted happily back and grinned at the thought of some extra flavoring in Ryan’s dinner. Okay then.
“Honestly, Fee,” Mom said, squaring herself as she faced off with the raw ingredients in front of her. “Men sometimes. Your father has me spoiled. And Crew you, no doubt.” She patted my shoulder gently. “We’re very lucky, you and I, to have lovely darlings like we do in our lives.” She glared at the door to the dining room. “If either of them were mine, I’d have walked a long time ago. Or done something more permanent to make sure their attitude changed for the better.”
She was right. I was very lucky. Dodged a major bullet, despite the pain of the original shot. At least that hit hadn’t been fatal. If I’d stayed? I don’t think my shriveled up little heart would have survived. As for now, well. The very thought of going back to Ryan made my stomach tense and my skin want to crawl off and die somewhere.
“I wish I knew what Ryan was doing here.” From what I’d heard, he’d been disbarred after being caught setting me up for fraud. Wow, was that just a few months past two years ago? The same time Pete Wilkins turned up dead in my koi pond.
“I personally couldn’t care less,” Mom said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make the plainest and least appetizing stew I can throw together.”
I grinned and left her to it, knowing she didn’t mean a word she said. Sure, she might be ticked, but Mom’s food was her crowning glory and since the failed appearance on Bake or Break when she forgot to test her batter, humiliated by sabotage, she’d thrown everything she had into ensuring every single morsel of food that left her kitchen tasted like it was made this side of heaven.
That meant I had work to do, too, and with a sigh that felt like déjà vu, I headed back through the dining room, leaving Petunia with Mom, staring up at my mother in her adoring and begging way, to check the rest of the retreat for what I might need to do to make sure the guests felt at home.
The very last thing I wanted to do. Grunt.
I slipped into the foyer, keeping my head high but my pace fast as I headed by Ryan deep in heated conversation with Eddie. I made no qualms about meeting both sets of eyes, glaring back in my best haughty Fleming way, wishing I had an excuse to stop and tell the two of them what I thought of them in no uncertain terms. But nope, I was the bigger woman here, thanks, and they could shove it.
I did pause at the desk long enough to look at the paperwork for the two visitors Dan left for me. Adrian’s I already knew. Grayson Gallinger, it turned out, was the owner and company president of Gallinger Pulp and Paper.
But it was the logo at the bottom of the page and the single, simple word next to it that caught my breath and made me shiver with foreshadowing anxiety I quickly squashed with curiosity. I knew that logo and that name. But why, oh why, was Blackstone Corporation’s letterhead a part of the introduction paperwork for Eddie Mauer’s new venture?
Blackstone. I’d lost track of them after their attempt to shut down the Zip It! zipline park by having one of their agents plant the dead body of a rare woodpecker on the property. Philip Davis did everything he could to ruin the park and I’d thought him guilty of the murder of famed activist Lewis Brown. Never mind that lying, cheating fake had actually been killed by his own partner. Whatever his involvement in the park’s attacks, Philip had been liberated from our jail by a phalanx of high-priced corporate lawyers and there hadn’t been a whisper about them in Reading since. I’d tried to do some digging, but the layers of fake businesses and offshore accounts surrounding Blackstone gave me nothing.
I’d thought them gone for good with their small town decimating ways. Instead, here they were, showing up again like blight on a healthy tree. So, had I been wrong all along? Was Blackstone around, under cover, and I just didn’t know it?
I had to talk to Eddie, find out what he had to do with them. But we weren’t exactly on speaking terms. That meant Dan, maybe, or Caleb. The odds of his hires knowing anything weren’t great, but I could start there. And, maybe, if Adrian liked my father as much as he said he might be willing to give up some information I could use to do my own digging without having to get it from the jackass’s mouth.
Mind whirling with questions, I chose to let it go for the time being and do what I’d come here to do. I almost made it to the wide wood staircase, the carved bannister winding its way up to the second floor behind the foyer, when someone came barging into the retreat front entry and took focus, mine included.
***
Chapter Eleven
The short, slim woman with the iron gray hair and snapping eyes, dressed in camouflage and boots that had seen more miles than my car didn’t seem to care she was tracking mud over the polished stone floor. If anything, she ground the gooey stuff on the bottom of her treads into the surface like it brought her joy. No way I was cleaning that. Eddie could lick it clean for all I cared. She had an edge to her visible even from across the wide entry, sharp like a blade that had been run over a stone to renew it too many times. Why did she look familiar? It was a day of such feelings, I guess, and her arrival turned me back from my ascent and lured me into the confrontation unfolding as I closed the distance with curiosity peaked.
Of course, it helped she had Olivia with her, Geoffrey Jenkins trailing after the two of them, the tall, skinny accountant with his hands in his suit pockets, that typically shark-like smarm of a smile pulling at his mouth. He grinned at me, tipped his head and then ignored me while the woman with Olivia came to a halt in the middle of the space, fists on hips, voice booming with authentic power unlike the poser Grayson appeared to be.
“This is an outrage.” She spun on the mayor who seemed distinctly unhappy to be bearing the brunt of her anger. “I was informed this kind of competitive business wasn’t going to be allowed in Reading when I supported you in the last election.”
Olivia glanced at me, dark eyes flat, but didn’t acknowledge me as she answered. “I can assure you,” she said, “there’s more than enough custom to fill both your hunting retreat and this one, Frieda.” She only sounded half-hearted, though, like she didn’t believe a word of it. What was Olivia up to? She could usually muster more enthusiasm than that? Maybe all the stress was finally getting to her after all.
“I’ve owned the only gun shop and hunting lodge in Reading for the past two decades.” Frieda’s tone wasn’t so much arrogant as it was factual. I did recognize her, then, though we’d only met in passing since I had no desire to own a gun or shoot anything that resembled a furry woodland creature. “It’s been in my family for three generations, Olivia. Three.” She held up a trio of fingers as if the mayor needed extra visuals to get what she was saying. “The Tibbets family has been loyal to Reading all that time. And now, I fi
nd, that loyalty is being mocked. Driven into the dirt. Ravaged by this,” she waved her arms around her in a savagely furious gesture that I had no doubt would have brought the place down if it was in her power to do so, “interloper’s hovel.”
“Now, Frieda.” That was Dan, his mellow voice cutting through the silence that followed her dramatic speech. “You know that competition is good for business, not bad.”
She leveled an index finger at him, advancing on him like a mountain lioness ready to pounce on her prey. “You lost the right to advise me when you turned coat and joined this outfit, Daniel Robles,” she said. “So you just shut your trap and let your betters talk.”
Wow, whoops. So he quit her to come here, did he? She wasn’t pulling any punches, this hard-edged piece of work.
“My dear,” Adrian must have figured his smooth talking politician’s ways might get through to Frieda. Honestly? I was hoping for a bloodbath, caught myself grinning behind my hands because this was more fun than a B-movie on a Saturday night with Crew, popcorn and the giggling that commenced while we tore the plot apart.
My dear was about all he got out. She spun on him next, fist returning to her hip while she hocked a big one and spit on the tile floor. Yup, Eddie was going to have fun with a mop and bucket, you bet. “Senator,” she snapped. “I won’t be voting for you next election, make no mistake.”
He flinched, smile fading a bit. “Mrs. Tibbets—”
“Ms.,” she snarled.
“Not surprised,” I heard Ryan mutter. But obviously either Frieda missed his little comment about her marital status or she didn’t care about him because she didn’t say anything further as Adrian went on.
“Ms. Tibbets.” He tried another smile, upping the ante to about 100 watts while she tapped one booted toe on the floor. “I’m sure your establishment offers excellent facilities and brings great value to Reading. Btu surely with the influx of tourism you’re seeing a huge amount of potential customers turned away? The demand must be met.” He looked up and caught Olivia’s gaze. “Am I correct, Mayor Walker?”
She didn’t say a word. So not like Olivia, not a little bit. Nor to let Geoffrey speak for her, which he did in a lazy kind of amusement that made me want to punch him. In the throat. With a steel-toed boot.
“How concise of you, senator,” he said, stepping forward, taking one further past Olivia and making his superiority known. I know my mouth was hanging open, but she didn’t look up to meet my eyes so there was nothing I could do to support her. Even if I’d chosen to at that moment. “I’d expect nothing less from a war hero beloved by his constituents.”
Was that a jab at Adrian or at Olivia or both? The flicker of irritation on her face matched that of the senator so I guess it didn’t matter because Geoffrey was making friends, sure was.
“There’s nothing we can do here, Frieda.” Olivia turned and marched toward the exit, the older woman gaping after her a moment before storming for the door.
“Fine,” she snapped at the mayor on the way by, “but you can forget about my support on election night.” She glanced back at Geoffrey. “Maybe we need a change of guard after all.”
Well, that was craptastic on a crappy stick.
Drama over, Geoffrey wandering out after the angry business owner and the slumped shouldered Olivia, I retreated too, heading back upstairs and an exploration of the space I had to work with.
Caleb slid past me on the way back to the foyer, head down, trying for a smile, but it was apparent from the dark red of his cheeks and the chuckling coming from Grayson Gallinger who followed on his heels the poor guy was in for a terrible weekend.
I let them go, wishing I could find an excuse to trip the old fart. Instead, I focused on the task at hand. Three doors stood open in the corridor, what looked like welcome packages on the beds, their four posters looming, the king-sized grandeur and pristine white sheets all in order. The men’s bags had been left behind already, likely by poor Caleb. He seemed nice enough in the short few minutes I’d had to talk to him, and maybe that was the problem. I really had to slip him some advice about being a willing kicking boy. And make sure Mom gave him refuge in the kitchen if he needed it. Sure, I’d originally decided he’d made his own bed—no pun intended as I did my job—but no one deserved to be treated like crap, no matter what they were willing to tolerate for a buck.
I quickly made up each of the beds, this task at least familiar, laying out the toiletries that had been left in small bags on the big armchairs by each small fireplace. My sneakers scuffed over the real fur rugs but I didn’t make an effort to figure out what kind of animal each one had been sourced from. Yes, my father hunted, had a hunting cottage, but I’d never been a fan of the sport, and couldn’t bring myself to call it that out loud. While I understood good hunting practice and honored that there were those who fed their families from the land, the idea of shooting something for fun, a critter that had the kind of innocent gaze that Petunia leveled me with on a daily basis? Made me want to throw up.
I considered calling Daisy, asking her to trade places after all as I finished off with Ryan’s room. How did I know it was his? Because his name was written on the package left on his bed. I did a quick glance through, shocked to find he was listed as the head legal counsel for Gallinger Pulp and Paper. How had he managed that? I didn’t care, I didn’t. Nope. Not one little bit. Whatever, right?
Argh.
Now I really had to call Daisy. I couldn’t be here, but I couldn’t abandon Mom, either. Still, everything in me screamed that I had to go, Blackstone mystery or not. I fished out my phone, knowing it made me a coward, and dialed her cell.
So, that moment when you really, really need to reach someone and you realize for the first time the lifeline you depend on, the phone you carry around and baby and do your best to hang onto needs an actual working cell tower to function? That instant you understand the technology that is your best friend in times of need is little more than a camera with a clock without the connection required to reach out to the rest of the world?
Yeah, that moment. Cuts like a knife.
Worse yet? No wifi either. Nope, nada, zippo. It was like the modern world went away, the apocalypse unfolding somewhere out there and all I had was this useless glass and plastic thing glaring back at me like taking it somewhere it was powerless to assist me was my fault.
Sigh.
I headed back downstairs, not sure what to do. If I was going to escape I had to drive out and that meant leaving Mom alone in this place. Carless and without backup. That wasn’t going to happen. On the other hand, I could maybe convince her to make up a bunch of food and leave it for the guests and high tail it out of here with a did our best shrug for Eddie and his little venture from hell.
I knew even before I entered the kitchen Mom wouldn’t go for that. Though, when I passed through the swinging door and found her warding off Grayson Gallinger with a large wooden spoon? Yeah, all reason went right out the window.
My mother, the Amazon warrior. Before I could reach her, she smacked him soundly with the utensil, startling him, I guess, because he fell back with a gasp while, red faced and furious, she advance don him, hitting him again and again as he cried out, arms now raised in front of him for protection from her attack. I stepped aside and did nothing to help, Mom shrieking at him to get out of her kitchen until he turned with a panicked look on his face and ran like a rabbit.
I reached out to hug her, horrified by her encounter with the lecherous old windbag, only to find her not crying in anger, but laughing. She patted at her hair with her free hand, the weapon she’d used still clutched in her right, green eyes sparkling with wicked glee and satisfaction.
“Let’s just see him try to touch my apron again, shall we?”
I choked on a laugh. “Mom. Are you okay?”
She sniffed in my general direction, nose in the air. “I’ve dealt with worse, dear,” she said. “Boys. So predictable.”
I wanted to ask her to leave.
To tell her I couldn’t stay. Instead, in the face of my mother’s courage and fortitude? I caved. And slunk my way out to the car to get the last of the supplies for her so I could at least grab some fresh air and check for cell service.
Please, there had to be cell service.
Wouldn’t you know I had the luck to run into Ryan? Literally ran right into him. For a moment I fell face first into ancient history, the scent of his cologne that now made me sick, the touch of his hands as he grasped my upper arms to keep me from bowling him over, his height and build so well-known I felt dizzy from the interaction. He firmly pushed me back, handsome face twisting into childish annoyance while I wobbled back into balance.
“Watch where you’re going, Fee.” He said it like clumsiness was my forte. Um, hello, hadn’t seen me in years, didn’t know me anymore. If he ever really did. And yet, the awkward and sometimes uncomfortable woman I’d been in his presence, so sure I was lucky to have someone like him before the truth came out? Yeah, she hadn’t gone anywhere, turned out. Just went into hiding.
Well, guess what? The new and improved Fee had a heck of a lot more time to settle in and make herself at home. So as soon as the initial reaction faded? I was all over him like a forest fire.
“You watch it,” I snapped. Okay, so not a resounding comeback, but Ryan wasn’t really known for his brilliance, and from the way his cheeks heated he was far enough into his own temper I’d achieved my goal of pissing him off. Score.
“You have a lot to answer for,” he said, brown eyes narrowing. “I can’t believe you turned on me like that, Fee. After everything we were to each other.”
Um, what? “Oh, you mean after you cheated on me with multiple women the entire time we were together before trying to frame me for fraud so you wouldn’t get in trouble for stealing from your boss?” He was clearly deluded.
Seriously? Deluded. He had the utter temerity to look hurt.
